Birthnight
by Dearheart
Summary: Edward Elric loves to sleep. But there is one day out of the whole year when he refuses to let his eyes close... Angsty, fluffy, brotherly goodness!


_"I never knew the nights were this long. Before this, I always spent my nights talking with brother about alchemy, about our future...and once we got tired from all the talking, we'd fall asleep and dream of happy things. One night seemed so short then. Now one night feels so... so awfully long."_ – Alphonse Elric, chapter 43

~ -:- ~

Edward Elric loves to sleep.

After all, spending every day traveling, researching, chasing leads and getting into various kinds of trouble can get a bit tiring. And he once heard that getting a good night's rest helps you grow, so what he misses from his issues with milk he makes up for in sleeping hours. (In _his_ reasoning, anyway.) He doesn't care anymore where he tucks in for the night; he'll sleep on anything from couches to cold, hard ground, with only a tuft of grass for his pillow. Arms beneath his head, tucked by his chest or sprawled every which-way, mouth slightly open in a gentle snore, shirt rumpled upwards just enough to expose a bit of skin...he treasures every minute of unconscious bliss.

But there is one day out of the whole year when he refuses to let his eyes close. Instead he sits with the hollow suit of armor beside him, the shell with the gentle voice of his little brother inside, and keeps vigil all through the night.

Alphonse rarely says anything, but Ed knows. He knows his brother longs to taste cake and ice cream again, to wrestle and play with the other boys in soft, grassy fields, to know again the simple happiness of receiving ordinary presents, _real_ presents...not just another can of oil for the armor's old hinges.

Truth can be a terrible thing; even more so when it is mixed with subtle deceit. There isn't a day when a ghostly thread of guilt doesn't creep through the cold of his automail and whisper to him: _he can't taste, can't smell, can't feel...can't cry, can't smile, can't sleep...because of_ you. _Your fault, your mistakes, your sin. He can't. He_ can't.

Then, like the glint of sunlight reflecting off the firm, silvery surface of Winry's handiwork, the hope and determination within him outshine the dark whispers:

_But someday he will. He_ will.

So Edward celebrates both their hope and his brother's birthday in the best way he can: to sit next to him, count the stars with him, talk with him, _be_ with him...so for at least one night, Alphonse won't have to spend the long, wakeful hours alone.

And every year, the conversation eventually repeats itself. Alphonse will hesitate before venturing,

"Ed? You don't have to stay up _all_ night, you know. Take a two-hour nap, at least..."

"Don't give me that," comes the hot retort. "No one should have to be up all alone on their birthday night; least of all you, Al. So don't even start."

"Come on. It's been a long day and I _know_ you're exhausted."

"Am not."

"Are too. You just yawned."

"...No, I didn't."

An exasperated sigh follows. "Why? Why do you always do this? There's nothing wrong with meeting your own, basic needs; it's _okay._ Why do you deprive yourself like this every year?"

Hard obstinacy tinges Edward's voice as one by one, he counts the reasons on his gloved fingers. "Because it's your birthday, you're more than worth it, and making you happy makes me happy, and I _want_ to stay up with you. It's as simple as that. And besides," he sometimes adds, moonlight and distant bittersweetness in his eyes as he turns his face to the sky, "if it was me stuck in that tin can...I know you'd do the same."

It is then that the two points of light slowly brighten within the armor, glowing warmly in an unseen smile. A few seconds of sacred quietness pass between them as they gaze together at the ocean of stars, and then the young voice murmurs,

"Brother...thank you."

And Edward will simply smile back and say,

"Happy birthnight, Al."

* * *

**A/N:** If anybody DARES to call this Elricest, SO HELP ME, I will hunt them down, tie them to a bed of nails and read Vogon poetry and Breaking Dawn excerpts to them...before stabbing them to death with marshmallow-toasting sticks and roasting their corpses over a campfire.

Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. (Especially when I'm in Canon-Purist Mode. And hormonal.)

*cough* ANYWAY. This old, drabbly little story was the first piece of FMA fan fiction I ever wrote...and I first posted it in a deviantART comment box, of all places. It was inspired by WONDERFUL piece of FMA fanart I came across; a picture of Ed and Al sitting together, relaxing on a grassy hill under a clear, moonlit night. And where Al's armor is, you can see a faint, ghost-like, smiling figure - Al as his own human self.

I was oggling it for the umpteenth time and then out of the blue, a single phrase brushed against my mind: "Edward loves to sleep...but there is one night when he refuses to let his eyes close..." The plot bunny kept nibbling and nibbling...and finally one night, at 2:00 AM in the morning, I caved and scribbled this thing. And now, after a few extra tweaks, I'm finally posting it here.

Hope you liked it! =3


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